Everything crashes once Sherlock goes
by Fidgett
Summary: Sherlock/John Mycroft/Lestrade


"Mycroft? Jesus, Myc, are you okay!" Greg said in a panic as he turned from the counter to see his usual perky, bright eyed, confident lover walk through the door to the kitchen looking the complete opposite.

Greg knew something had happened, something really terrifyingly horrific, because the way Mycroft had walked into that room wasn't a normal reaction to something just plain _bad_.

His posture was slumped forward, he was dragging his feet across the floor as if he didn't even care and he looked absolutely shattered. His face was pale, a devastatingly ghostly white. It was drained of all colour, except his eyes which were a shocking bright red where he'd obviously been crying and rubbing vigorously away the tears. The expression on his face was horrifying and painful; Greg swore he felt his heart had shatter just from the look on his face. He was broken, that much was obvious.

Greg's heart pounded through his chest as he got to Mycroft within a matter of seconds, holding his arms as he directed him to the nearest chair, watching Mycroft's face as his eyes closed and surrendered all his energy, allowing Greg to guide him.

"Mycroft, darling. What's happened? Jesus, look at you. Talk to me." Greg said hurriedly, fussing over Mycroft like a 5 year old child who had fallen off their bike. "I'll get you a glass of water, hold on..."

"Gregory..." Mycroft croaked through a hoarse voice, "Stop it." He placed his hand on Greg's arm, causing Greg to suddenly stop and stare down on big, glass-like eyes. Mycroft's expression almost killed Greg. His eyes were watering, his face had sunk completely, no life at all. All Greg wanted to do was hug him and make whatever had upset him disappear.

Greg knelt down in front of him, holding his hands in his before speaking softly, "Do you want to talk?"

Mycroft closed his eyes, breathing in deeply before exhaling on a sigh and opening his eyes to meet Greg's, "It-It's..." he couldn't speak, a tear rolled down his cheek as he looked away and closed his eyes again.

Greg squeezed his hand gently, "It's okay... take your time."

"Could you fetch me a glass of water, please?" Mycroft asked, wiping away the few tears that had made themselves comfortable on his cheek.

"Yes, yes. Of course." Greg rose quickly, rushing around the kitchen.

Mycroft leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he hung his head in his hands. He allowed the images of the previous hours appear in his head. His heart sinking as they passed at a rapid pace. Swiftly moving onto images of his past, which had always been the more memorable moments of his life.

"Here, drink this and take your time. There's no need to rush." Greg whispered, holding a glass up in front of Mycroft as he used his other hand to thread his fingers through his hair, stroking his fingertips over the skin comfortingly.

"Thank you." He croaked as he took the glass and stared into it. He sat there staring at the water confined in the small space for a few moments before Greg placed a hand on his knee.

"Hey, stay with me."

Mycroft took a sip of the drink, placing it on the table and taking a hold of Greg's hand. He took a deep breath before staring into Greg's eyes.

Greg suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable and felt as if he knew what has happened. "Oh, Myc... don't you dare say it's him..." He watched as Mycroft sighed horribly, averting his gaze to the floor, "Tell me he's okay, tell me he's only in hospital or that he's been in hospital and he's okay."

"He's gone..." Mycroft said, barely audible.

"Mycroft..." Greg said, moving to pull Mycroft into a hug, but was stopped as Mycroft rose from his seat, clearing his throat as he straightened his suit out. "Where are you going?"

"I've got things to sort out. I have to inform family and friends, sort out his funeral and other necessary things that I shall come across shortly-"

"Mycroft, stop." Greg spoke, his voice breaking near the end, forcing him to clear his throat as he started again. "Stop it, please."

"I can't just stop, Greg. The world doesn't stop just because someone died, thousands of people die every day. Sherlock's one person out of the great amount of others who've followed him. I can't just _stop_."

"Yes, yes you bloody well can!"

"No, Gregory. I can't, time doesn't stop when a life is taken."

"No, but there are certain circumstances in life which you're allowed to take a break, have time to understand and in this situation, mourn your brother's death."

"What is there to understand! Sherlock is dead, that is all we have to understand, it's as simple as two plus two! Now, I need to make some calls and call a car to get to my Mothers. She won't take this well and I fear telling her over the phone won't help the matter."

"Mycroft, what just happened! One moment you're speechless and unable to tell me anything, then all of a sudden you're back wearing that fucking annoying persona of yours where nothing bothers you! You're not invincible, you're a normal human being! Jesus, you and your brother are so a like, you both think nothing can hurt you, but look what's happened, Mycroft, look what happened to your brother because he thought he was so great and untouchable!"

"Well, thank you for your input, Greg, but next time I want it, I'll inform you."

A sudden realisation hit Greg, the words that just escaped him repeating themselves as he watched Mycroft storm off into the living room.

"Mycro-" he said, his voice breaking as he held back his tears threatening to fill his eyes. Mycroft didn't turn stop or turn around, so Greg followed him. "Mycroft, I'm sorry. That was insensitive of me, I just... I'm worried about you."

"What a brilliant way to show your concern, by telling me I'm just like my dead brother and implying that he had this coming!"

"I didn't say that! Look, I'm sorry! It just came out. I didn't intentionally say it, I don't want to stand back and watch you bottle up your emotions. I've done that far too many times with your brother every time John went into hospital, I refuse to do that with you. Please, Mycroft. It nearly killed me watching your brother, it _will_ kill me watching you."

Mycroft sighed and lowered himself onto the sofa.

"Myc..." Greg placed a hand on Mycroft's back, seating himself next to him, resting his other hand on his knee, "You don't have to pretend around me, you don't have to pretend ever, but you choose to. Please, don't pretend when I'm here. I'm the one person you shouldn't feel the need to be someone else. I know who you are, I'm _in love_ with you, the real you, not your persona. Don't hide."

Then suddenly Greg managed to relax as Mycroft broke down beside him, tears streaming down his cheeks as he sobbed into his hands. Greg could do the only thing that anyone would have done and pulled him in for a comforting hug, allowing Mycroft to cry uncontrollably into his shoulder as tears ran down his own cheeks, them both remembering the moments they shared with Sherlock.

They stayed like that for a while, time seemed to drag so slowly as Mycroft continued to sob and Greg comforted him. Eventually they just ended up sitting there hugging one another, forgetting everything else in the world except Sherlock.

"I could have prevented it..."

"Mycroft, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. Maybe later, but right now, you don't have to." Greg whispered against Mycroft's hair, stroking his fingers through it.

"I could have kept him alive..." Mycroft continued, mumbling into his shirt, ignoring Greg's words.

Greg just sighed, knowing his reassuring protests would be ignored and Mycroft would continue to go on.

"He warned me, he said he was going to get him this time, no messing around. He would finally be done with him, wipe the slate clean of him. He said "Daddy's become tired of playing footsy with the detective, now it's time to get down dirty and finish the job." And I knew he meant it. God, I hate that fucking psychopath. I went to Sherlock, I told him, he didn't listen to me. He just took it as a chance to test himself again, the bloody idiot! Why was he so clever, yet so fucking stupid! And I was there! I followed! I could have stopped it, but I was too busy hoping Moriarty would draw it out a bit longer then the police could have got there in time, they could have stopped it if it was stretched out by another 30 seconds. I could have gone in... I could have stopped it..."

"Myc, don't blame yourself. Your brother was genius, yet a fool. You did what you could..."

"I could have done more."

"Oh, Myc. You really, really couldn't, not without getting yourself hurt, even killed."

"I'd rather myself than Sherlock..."

Then he sobbed into Greg's shoulder again. Greg closed his eyes and felt his heart ache as Mycroft said that last sentence. He refused to think of how much pain he'd be in if it was the other way round. He already hurt from the current news, if it was the other way around, he wouldn't know what to do.

Then John suddenly came into his head. "Oh god, John..." He breathed, on a sigh of realisation. "What happened to John? Where was John?"

"Oh, no! They'd had an argument last night... John'll be waiting at the flat for Sherlock!"

"Right, it would be a terrible idea for him to find out from anyone else, I know John. We're close, this will crush him. _We _need to tell him." Greg said, rushing around the living room grabbing his coat and keys, passing Mycroft's coat to him as he made his way to the hall to put his shoes on.

"What are we going to say? I couldn't even tell you." Mycroft said, following Greg, putting his own shoes on.

"Leave it to me, I'm used to breaking this news. It's more difficult to tell a friend, a friend like John... but I'll deal with it better than you."

After a 20 minute drive to 221b through London, with Mycroft failing to control himself in the passenger seat of the car, having random out bursts of emotion every so often, they finally got parked up outside the flat, rushing out as Greg knocked loudly on the door.

The door opened and both men were greeted by Mrs Hudson. She looked at them both with a surprised look, not ever seeing them together before and noticing that Mycroft was trying to hide behind Greg.

"Oh, goodness. Are you alright, love?" She said, noticing how pale and red eyed he was. "Sherlock's not in at the moment."

Greg heard Mycroft make a suppressed noise as she mentioned Sherlock, "We're not after Sherlock, I'm afraid... we're after John. Is he in?"

"Yes, he's only just come in. They were bickering late last night and he left. I think he said something about staying at his sisters for the night, he does that a lot recently. The poor dears, always arguing."

"Oh, wonderful." Greg whispered as he pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as this situation slowly got worse.

"Is something wrong?"

"Look, Mrs. Hudson, we'll explain later. Right now, we need to see John." Greg said as he stepped into hall when Mrs Hudson moved out the way.

They both bounded up the stairs, Greg holding onto Mycroft's hand as he followed. They stopped outside the door to 221b, Greg being abruptly turned around to meet Mycroft's terrified gaze.

"Greg, I don't want to do this. This isn't right, this should never happen. He's my brother, John's life partner, your friend. We should never have to do this." Mycroft said shakily, his voice just above a whisper.

"But we have to. It's happened and now we have to pick up the pieces. We have each other, remember, and John will have us and his sister." Greg replied, squeezing Mycroft's hands before knocking on the door quietly and slowly opening the door.

John was sat in his armchair, reading his newspaper. He peered over the paper as the door opened. "Oh, good afternoon, Lestrade. Sherlock's not here..." he trailed off as Mycroft came into view.

Mycroft groaned as he heard John's tone change as he entered the room, turning around to make a swift exit but got pulled back in my Greg.

"Yes, we know..."

"Is everything okay? Is Mycroft sick?" John said, sounding slightly worried as he rose from the chair, placing the newspaper on the coffee table.

Mycroft laughed breathlessly, becoming irritated with how people keep commenting on him. "This isn't about me."

Greg sighed, "Myc... Look, John. You might want to sit down."

"Greg, what's happened? It's Sherlock, isn't it? Oh god, what's he done now?"

"John, please. Sit down..."

"Has he been kidnapped again? If so surely Mycroft could work out a way to get to him. I'll go, I'll get him, just need-"

"John, he hasn't been kidnapped." Greg interrupted him. "He was in an accident... unfortunately, he didn't survive... I'm sorry..."

"What- what accident? What do you mean he didn't survive? What accident!" John said, a hint of scepticism in his voice.

"Moriarty..."

"Oh, no... no... the text... is that where he was going! Did you know he was going? The police usually know when he's doing something. Oh god... He can't be- He can't. He's Sherlock... He's my Sherlock..." John sat back down onto the chair, sitting on the edge trying to prevent himself from hyperventilating. "He can't be... Not now... Why did I leave! If I had stayed, I would have been here, I would have been with him... Oh god... no..."

"John..."

"Did you know?" John looked up at Greg, tears filling his eyes threatening to flood.

"I didn't... no..." Greg said softly.

"But..." He caught Mycroft's gaze, tears rolling down the man's cheeks as they locked eyes. "You knew..."

"John, he tried everything he could. I promise you he did." Greg moved round to John, kneeling beside him. "There was nothing anyone could do once Sherlock got in that building... He tried to stop him, but you know how Sherlock is."

"Was..." John whispered as he stared at the coffee table where Sherlock's phone was left, only just noticing it now, allowing the tears to roll rapidly down his face.

He reached over for the phone, opening it to view his outbox and seeing last text he had sent was the one to John saying "I love you" after he apologised for last night's argument. Then, right there, he broke down, clinging to the phone as he sobbed into his hands, Greg placing a hand on his shoulder, allowing the devastated man to cry. He couldn't begin to imagine how John felt right then, but he knew it was a hundred times worse than how he felt.

"Why didn't you ring me?" He said through the sobs. "Why didn't you ring me as soon as you knew."

"I thought you were here, I didn't know you two had an arguement until we were at the building and I asked where you were... John... I'm so sorry." Mycroft pleaded as he broke into uncontrollable sobs, falling down onto the sofa.

"Look, John. We'll get through this, you're not alone. You have Mycroft and me, Mrs. Hudson downstairs, everyone at Scotland Yard. Your sister and the Holmes' family. We're all here, we're all shocked by this and we'll all be supporting you as much as we can. Come on pal..." Greg said reassuringly, moving to sit on the coffee table and pulling John into a tight hug, sending a comforting look Mycroft's way.

After a while, they all went down stairs to inform Mrs Hudson, which was possibly one of the hardest things to do. Greg and John told her together, she'd broken down and sobbed into her hands, refusing to allow anyone to comfort her.

Shortly after, they'd all made their way back upstairs to allow her to have her own space and sat awkwardly in the room, filled with Sherlock, smelling of Sherlock. His experiments lying around and his books covering any high space they could fill.

"We should go, you have your Mother to inform..." Greg said to Mycroft as he rose from the chair. "If you need anything, John, just give me a call. I'll be straight over and if you need a place to stay, our door is always open."

"Thank you, but I wouldn't want to leave Mrs. Hudson on her own... not at the moment."

Greg nodded, grasping Mycroft's arm as he pulled him towards the door.

"John." Mycroft spoke gently, wary that John could possibly blame him for this situation, "I apologise about my brother, I did as much as I could to prevent this from happening... I just want you to know, you're always welcome in the Holmes' family. You're part of the Holmes' now, you have been from the start."

"Thank you, Mycroft." John replied, looking sadly at Mycroft, confirming he understood how Mycroft felt and how he had tried to stop it. Relieving Mycroft of a little guilt before he left to go home and deal with the death of his only brother.

Both the men left the flat, leaving John to sit on his own, in the cold, with all the memories surrounding him, fiddling with Sherlock's phone as he flicked through the last two sent messages.

_I'm sorry about last night. I'll be out all day if you're returning at all. I brought you milk and removed the severed head from the freezer. SH._

_**I love you.**_

Later that night, John had made his way into Sherlock's room and climbed onto his bed, wrapping himself in his duvet and surrounding himself in his scent. He'd laid there for hours, crying into the pillow until he'd lost the energy to even think and fallen into a deep sleep, dreaming of the man he loved endlessly, with the whole of his heart which now ached an unbelievable amount. The man he spent every day of the past 3 years with running around London, chasing criminals and solving cases for the police. The man he'd been emotionally and physically attracted to for the past 3 years. The man he'd never see again... 

**A/N: I've literally only just finished writing this. Spontaneity, again! I went to proof read it, but I had spent most the time with tears pouring from my eyes because of the image I had of Mycroft ~Emotionally Invested~ breaking down. It was worse than this and I couldn't write it. Haha... I don't know why I chose to write this. I apologise for any mistakes, I'm expecting there to be many. I'm not expecting any of you to cry either. 3**


End file.
